


Draw Your Swords

by faithtastic



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithtastic/pseuds/faithtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the defeat of the Archdemon, Ser Cauthrien follows through on a promise she made to Loghain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draw Your Swords

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted anonymously to the Dragon Age Kink Meme on Livejournal, this is a slightly edited version.

The massive doors, rough-hewn from the sturdiest Brecilian oak, part with an almighty groan, revealing the imposing grandeur of the great hall.

Taking a constitutional pause to summon her courage and wits, Ser Cauthrien strides purposefully through, flanked by four Royal Guards in chainmail and tunics that bear the crest of Maric. She comes to a halt a respectful distance from the throne and its occupant before bowing her head and stooping to one knee.

"Arise," King Alistair says evenly, his eyes wary.

In truth, she is surprised that he's agreed to give her an audience at all, given everything that has come to pass. Although she and her men had ultimately demonstrated their allegiance to Ferelden and fought tirelessly alongside the Grey Wardens' allies at the Battle of Denerim, suffering terrible losses, there are many at court who still regard her with deep suspicion.

Winning their trust is not her concern, however, and she will not squander this unexpected opportunity.

She rises slowly and addresses the King. "Your majesty, I wish to petition for the release of Anora Mac Tir."

Alistair's eyebrows shoot skywards. For perhaps a full minute all that can be heard is the occasional crackle and pop of the fireplaces. The entire room seems to hold its collective breath. Then suddenly the King's advisors – the mage Wynne and the dwarf Oghren amongst them – erupt in terse outrage.

"Quiet!" Alistair's voice booms out, silencing the court. "Don't beat about the bush, do you?" he remarks, with a bemused twist of his lips. "Do you think me a fool?"

"No, my lord."

"Then why do you insult my intelligence so?"

"That is not my intention, I assure you. I consider you a benevolent ruler, my lord, and it is to your sense of compassion that I appeal."

He stares at her, seemingly trying to assess if she is mocking him.

She keeps her expression perfectly neutral.

"So, let me get this right... you're proposing that I pardon the woman that conspired with her father, a traitor to this kingdom, to have me and my friends killed?"

She waits patiently, sensing that he has more incredulity to air.

"You, Loghain's most trusted lieutenant?" There is a long pause then he chuckles. "That is the funniest thing I've heard all week."

His laughter continues for a minute then he sobers sharply, his eyes turning hard. "Why in the name of the Maker would I agree to that?"

Put like that, she has to concede that he has a valid point. "In all honesty there is no reason that you should but I ask you to show mercy. Anora was misguided but consider that she only ever wanted to do what she thought was best for the people of Ferelden. Her intentions were noble though her methods were not."

At this Alistair snorts. "Hunting down the Grey Wardens, the only ones capable of ending the Blight was for the good of Ferelden? How silly of me not to see that."

"She did not know of her father's plot to kill you."

"And you? I suppose you were innocent in this too?"

Cauthrien lowers her eyes. "I knew that he'd gone too far, that he was... obsessed. But I did not question his orders." She looks up, meets Alistair's resentful glare head on. "I know I have no right to ask this of you but, please, release her into my custody."

"Why? So she may seek out those loyal to her father? To stir up support against me?"

She can see the warmth that Alistair normally exudes rapidly receding, replaced with an implacable rigidity, and knows that she is fast running out of time here.

"I made a promise to Loghain. That if anything should... happen to him, that I would protect her."

"The sturdy walls of the dungeon protect that back-stabbing wench well enough," Oghren growls, taking a menacing step forward. Wynne's gentle hand on his shoulder prevents him from advancing further.

"Flawed as he was, Loghain was like a father to me. More than a promise, it's a obligation," Cauthrien continues, ignoring the dwarf's interjection. She gives Alistair a beseeching look. "Please, my lord, grant me this one favour. I swear to you I mean you no harm, I hold no grievance for the past."

Wynne folds her arms, studying Cauthrien intently for a moment. "I sense no dishonesty from her."

"I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw her," Oghren grumbles under his breath.

Alistair thoughtfully rubs his chin. "Let's say I was to entertain this idea, I can't have you two running around the palace, plotting to overthrow me under my own roof."

A flare of hope rises in Cauthrien but she holds her breath, waiting.

The King's eyes shift to his most trusted advisors, Oghren with a deep scowl on his features, while Wynne gives a subtle nod. Then Alistair's gaze settles on the petitioner again.

He sighs in resignation. "Alright. I'll grant your request, Ser Cauthrien. On three conditions."

Cauthrien dares not speak in case he changes his mind.

"You will personally take full responsibility for Anora's actions from this day forward. If I hear so much as an inkling of a plot against me, I will have you hunted down. You will also immediately resign your position as Commander of Maric's Shield."

At this slight a bitter taste rises in her throat but she is careful not to show any outward sign of it. She's a soldier, it defines her, and the day she was promoted by Loghain to lead those men was the proudest day of her life. Stripped of her rank, reputation in tatters, her mentor dead, there is nothing left of the woman she once was.

"Finally, you will leave Denerim and never return. If you ever set foot within the city walls again, you'll both be arrested and imprisoned. I never want to see you or hear of you, is that understood?"

"Yes, your majesty," Cauthrien demurs. "You are most gracious."

"Guards," Alistair announces, "escort Ser Cauthrien to the dungeon."

  


**

  


Anora's cell isn't half as dank and squalid as one might expect and Cauthrien is relieved to see the deposed Queen sitting on a fairly comfortable looking bed reading a hefty tome on Ferelden history. Clothes, books and a few personal effects of sentimental value have been made available to her.

The blonde glances up when she hears the jangle of chainmail and the stomp of heavy boots approaching, mouth dropping open in surprise and fear when she recognises Ser Cauthrien amongst the retinue of guards. She stands suddenly, the book in her lap dropping to the floor quite forgotten.

"Ser Cauthrien, what are you –" Anora halts mid-sentence as the jailor unlocks the door without preamble and stands aside as it swings open freely.

"You are to accompany me out of the city, my lady," Cauthrien says, stepping inside the cell.

"But..." Anora's pale brows furrow in confusion. "What's happening?"

"The King has freed you."

The blonde's mouth opens and closes, seemingly and uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

"We've been given leave to gather your belongings from the palace and then we must leave Denerim by nightfall," Cauthrien continues patiently. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, alright," Anora says, dragging the back of her hand against her forehead. She is overwhelmed, Cauthrien sees, but they have precious little time to waste.

Cauthrien gives what she hopes is a reassuring smile. "I will explain everything, I promise."

Anora meets her gaze and nods, putting her trust implicitly in the other woman.

  


**

  


"Just pack the essentials," Cauthrien says once they are inside the relative privacy of Anora's chambers, with two of the Royal Guard posted outside the door. "We can send for the rest of your belongings once we've returned to Gwaren."

She peers out the window, gazing across the ramparts and drinking in one long last view of the city that she's called home for the past fifteen years. She remembers coming here as a slip of girl, little more than a green recruit plucked from obscurity and a life of drudgery on the farm by Loghain. She remembers being awed by the sheer size and commotion of the place, having seen nothing like the great bustle of Denerim, where majesty and squalor sit uneasily side by side. It is hard now to turn her back on it.

"Gwaren? But Alistair – the King," and here Cauthrien hears the distaste and bitterness in the other woman's voice, "he stripped me of my lands, of my wealth. There is nothing for me there now."

Cauthrien turns from the window to look at Anora. "You father still has friends there. They will not see you destitute."

Anora gives a mirthless laugh. "How can you be sure? What do they owe me but pity?"

Cauthrien crosses the room in a few short strides, taking the blonde's hands firmly in her own gloved ones. "Pity? No. Everyone in Gwaren knows that while Cailan was strutting about like a peacock, you were the one ruling Ferelden. Gwaren remembers what your father did to drive the Orlesians out of our lands. He was, _is_ , a hero to Gwaren and you are his prodigal daughter. Anora, they owe you a great deal."

There is a thick silence as Anora's absorbs Cauthrien's passionate words and the knight becomes aware that a line has been crossed, in the liberty she's taken in clutching Anora's hands so tightly. She would never dared have touched her or spoken so freely while Anora was Queen, so she lets go quickly, retreating a couple of steps.

"I apologise if I've spoken out of turn, my lady."

"You don't need to keep calling me that," Anora sighs. "If anything I should be deferring to you, Ser Cauthrien. You are a knight of the realm and I am a mere commoner now."

"Not to me."

A small smile touches Anora's lips. "Well, thank you though you flatter me by saying so."

Cauthrien feels her cheeks grow warm and she turns her attention to the small trunk. "We should make haste."

"Yes, of course," Anora replies, watching the other woman a moment longer before resuming packing her belongings.

  


**

  


Under Alistair's instructions they are escorted to the city gates by armed guards and provided with two small mares from the stables and provisions to last them a couple of days. Despite what Cauthrien may privately think of the new monarch, he has shown more decency than she might have expected by assisting them thus. He could just have easily sent them on their way with nothing but the clothes on their backs, making them easy prey for bandits or the few bands of darkspawn that are known to still roam Ferelden. So for small mercies she is thankful.

By the time they are two leagues from Denerim the sun has set and, even with the Blight defeated, it isn't safe to travel by cover of darkness. They stop at the first inn they come across, regardless of whether the state of its lodgings are fit for a former Queen.

With little coin to spare for the long ride to Gwaren they rent only one room.

Cauthrien follows Anora up the stairs but stops outside, resting her weary back against the wall.

Pausing in the open doorway, Anora looks over her shoulder. "Aren't you coming in?"

"I'll stand guard here."

"But you're exhausted."

Cauthrien lifts her chin but remains silent.

"I may not be Queen anymore but as Loghain's daughter I'm commanding you. Come inside."

They stare at each other a long moment, until Cauthrien finally relents with a roll of her eyes. "You always were bossy, even as a child."

The blonde purses her lips in satisfaction. "Yes, well, I think you'll find things go much more smoothly when you let me have my way."

"I'm beginning to see that," Cauthrien says dryly, though she can't help feeling some measure of relief at not having to spend the night propped up against the wall.

That feeling soon disappears when she sees that the tiny room is mostly taken up by one single bed and she begins to wonder if a hard wall isn't a better option than the hard floor.

As Anora sets the trunk on the bed and pulls out a nightgown, Cauthrien turns her back to give the other woman some privacy. She listens for the faint rustle of material as Anora sheds her clothing and dons the nightdress, clearing her throat slightly to let the knight know when she is decent.

Even as she faces Anora again Cauthrien averts her eyes when the blonde slips under the thin covers. She debates with herself whether it will be more uncomfortable to keep her plate armour on and decides the extra chill is worth less discomfort. So she busies herself with the various buckles and ties that hold her armour in place, removing the plate shell piece by piece. All the while she feels Anora's curious gaze on her and if it makes her fingers clumsy then she pretends not to notice.

Soon she is free of the boots, greaves, gauntlets and chestplate and she feels suddenly very exposed in her quilted undergarments. As Cauthrien moves to lie on the floor, Anora speaks up softly. "We could share the bed."

Cauthrien's dark gaze moves from the narrow bed to Anora, her brow furrowing.

"It would be a bit of a tight squeeze but I think it's big enough for two."

"The floor is fine," Cauthrien replies curtly, definitely not entertaining thoughts of the other woman's body fitting snugly against her own. With that said, she settles onto her back and closes her eyes, blocking out the sound of Anora's soft breathing.

  


**

  


A sudden touch on her shoulder causes her to jerk awake, although her eyes are blind in the pitch darkness of the room.

She realises that she is shivering, her teeth chattering, and she almost groans at the warmth seeping into her frigidly cold body from the hand that still rests on her shoulder.

"You're freezing," Anora exclaims. In the darkness she barely discerns the blanket being lifted. "You silly woman, come here."

At first Cauthrien resists but Anora drags her up and onto the bed with more strength than she thought the blonde possessed. Being under the blanket with the heat of Anora's body pressing into her side is like being surrounded in a cocoon of delirious warmth. Soon the shivers subside and Cauthrien becomes aware of Anora's arms, holding her, and she stiffens because this was not what Loghain meant when he asked her to look after his daughter. She attempts to squirm out of Anora's grasp but the other woman tightens her hold.

"Don't struggle, just be calm," Anora soothes, her voice disconcertingly close to Cauthrien's ear. She feels the gust of soft breath across her cheek and it sends an altogether different kind of shiver down her spine. "You've given up so much for me, the least I can do is sacrifice a little bed space for you."

Sleep proves elusive that night, though Anora seems to drift off within a matter of moments. For her part, Cauthrien lies perfectly still, trying to focus on the shifting shadows on the ceiling instead of the curve of Anora's hip against her own.

  


**

  


It becomes routine: they ride hard until sunset, find an inn, share a bed and the following day is filled with awkward silences and frayed nerves.

Every time she looks at Anora Cauthrien tries to envision Loghain's stern face, hears his words and the promise he exacted from her. It acts like a bucket of cold water, the shock of it bringing Cauthrien to her senses and focusing her on her duty. As it should be.

  


**

  


By the fourth day, she is weary with fatigue. Sleepless nights have taken their toll and when they run into an opportunistic band of highwaymen by the coast sluggishness makes her careless enough to invite injury. Between them she and Anora dispatch the men but not without a nasty slash from a blade to Cauthrien's bicep.

Once the last man falls, Anora rushes over. "You're hurt."

"Just a scratch," Cauthrien huffs, attempting to brush the other woman aside.

Anora clutches her arm regardless, trying to inspect the wound. "Let me see."

"It's nothing. We must keep moving."

The blonde frowns, concern giving way to annoyance. "Why must you be so obstinate?"

"Me?" Cauthrien blinks in disbelief. "I specifically told you that if we are attacked you're to take the horses and flee. Under no circumstances are you to join in the fray!"

"I will not stand idly by while you fight alone. I am perfectly capable of defending myself. Or are you forgetting who I am?" Anora says archly.

She remembers very well watching a young blonde girl performing drills in the courtyard all those years ago, wielding a sword that was almost as big as she was. And, beside her, the young prince who would be king, never quite keeping up. Anora was remarkably accomplished, even then.

"Oh, you are your father's daughter. That much is clear." The words issue forth before Cauthrien has the sense to stop them and she instantly regrets causing the flash of emotion – pain, guilt, loss - that darkens Anora's eyes.

Anora lets go of her arm and steps towards the horses.

Closing her eyes for a moment and taking a fortifying breath, Cauthrien turns to follow. "My lady, I am sorry. I –" She falters, unsure how to right this. "My duty weighs heavily on me. I –"

"Then we should make haste to Gwaren, should we not? So that you may be free of your burden, Ser Cauthrien," Anora responds, mounting her horse.

"I did not mean –"

Before the knight can finish her apology, Anora is out of earshot.

  


**

  


That night, thanks to the generosity of the dead highwaymen, they sleep in separate rooms. The lumpy bed offers no comfort or respite. There is only the growing tightness in Cauthrien's chest and a corresponding hollow feeling in her stomach.

Perhaps Anora is correct. Perhaps the sooner they part ways, the better.

  


**

  


In the morning Anora's eyes are red-rimmed and she avoids Cauthrien's gaze.

She's never looked lovelier, Cauthrien thinks. And she realises, guiltily, that her eyes have always been drawn to the other woman.

She's watched Anora from afar for years – in the course of duty - and the sight of her has always stirred uncomfortable feelings in Cauthrien. Until recently she thought her discomfort was spurred by jealousy, of the close bond between father and daughter, of the happy marriage between the Queen and her husband.

As a young soldier, barely more than a child herself, she'd watched Cailan as he followed Anora around like an excitable puppy. She'd watched Anora blossom from a tomboyish girl into a beautiful young woman.

It isn't jealousy at all, but something far worse: longing.

And the shroud of grief surrounding the blonde only serves to make her all the more exquisite.

  


**

  


Gwaren is but a three day ride away now and Cauthrien is intensely aware of time slipping away from her.

Anora remains distant and the words the knight wants to say to her are lodged in her throat, even when they stop for a simple lunch of bread and cheese procured from the last inn.

Mercifully, it is the blonde who ends the silence. "What will you do, once we reach Gwaren?" Her tone is polite, almost aloof.

"I had hoped..." Cauthrien clears her throat quietly, "you would retain my services."

Anora's expression is ambiguous. "My estate has been confiscated. I cannot pay you."

"I know. But I promised your father –"

"My father is dead!" Anora snaps impatiently, tossing aside the bread. "I release you from any oath or allegiance you swore to him. You are free to do as you wish."

Anora stands abruptly, clearly putting an end to the conversation.

Frustrated, Cauthrien follows her. "It doesn't work that way. Your father gave me purpose when I had none."

"Purpose, duty. They are merely words," Anora says, spinning on her heel. She advances a step towards the knight, a challenge in her glare. "Do you even know how to make a decision for yourself or are you just my father's obedient lap dog?"

Narrowing her eyes and squaring her shoulders, Cauthrien matches that step forward with one her own. She knows that she cuts an imposing figure but Anora doesn't shrink back. Her eyes glimmer with anger and pride and rebuke.

"Alright," Cauthrien says evenly. "As you wish, we will go our separate ways when we reach Gwaren. I cannot force you to take a bodyguard against your will."

"Good," Anora says, though her haughty tone is at odds with the look in her eyes.

  


**

  


Several hours elapse before Anora draws her horse alongside Cauthrien's. At first she pretends not to acknowledge the conciliatory gesture but she feels the other woman's gaze almost tangibly.

"I am sorry for lashing out at you. It was uncalled for," the blonde says, somewhat stiffly. Apologies don't come easily to this proud woman, Cauthrien knows, but all the same she's disinclined to accept it so quickly.

She hums and spurs her horse into a slightly faster gait. A few moments later Anora catches up, a look of displeasure on her face. Cauthrien has to hide her smirk.

"You are insufferable, do you know that? I swear, sometimes you remind me so much of –" Anora stops herself and the brief pass of anguish over her features is impossible to miss. Then, inexplicably, she crumbles, sobbing into the hand that covers her mouth.

Cauthrien stares, immobilised. Give her a sword and army of darkspawn and she knows exactly what to do. But - this? - comforting a woman broken by loss, she flounders.

Reaching a decision, she grabs for the reins of Anora's horse and draws them both to a standstill. Slipping from her saddle, she takes the other woman's hand and tugs gently to communicate her intent. Anora follows without complaint.

Seconds later Anora is huddled in her arms, forehead pressed to the cool plate that covers Cauthrien's shoulder as she weeps. The knight wraps her arms gingerly around Anora, torn between panic and something else when Anora clings to her more tightly.

There is nothing else to do but let the tears run their course. All the while she rubs awkward circles on Anora's back. Before, when Anora was Queen, this would have been considered improper behaviour but Cauthrien isn't sure where the boundaries lie anymore, not when they have slept side by side, quarrelled and laughed together.

Sobs turn into sniffles then eventually dissipate altogether. Anora pulls away from the loose embrace, face downcast.

"I regret that my presence causes you such distress," Cauthrien says, already missing the feel of the other woman in her arms.

The blonde shakes her head. "No. You are a comfort."

Watery blue eyes stare up at Cauthrien unflinchingly. Her hand boldly finds Anora's cheek, thumb gently brushing away a fresh spill of tears. "Am I? I seem to cause you agitation and upset at every turn."

Anora lets out a soft, shuddering breath and there's just something about the delicacy of her in this moment, a woman normally so completely composed, which makes Cauthrien want to abandon all sense of propriety and kiss her.

Instead, she returns to her horse. "Come, we should reach lodgings shortly up this trail."

  


**

  


That night and the next, Cauthrien is at pains to keep her distance from Anora. She doesn't trust herself not to succumb to her baser instincts because the blonde's lips and images of kissing them now occupy her every thought. It's like a dam has been released and there is no way of stemming the flow.

But Anora seems intent on foiling her; touching her arm or hand at every opportunity, standing too close.

Eventually, the knight reaches breaking point.

"You must stop this," she says, under her breath. The two tankards of sweet ale she's consumed have given her the courage to speak up.

The look of confusion on Anora's face is really quite beguiling.

"This," she indicates by nodding towards the blonde's hand in its current position, resting lightly on Cauthrien's wrist. "People are talking."

Anora glances around, her eyes making a sweep of the patrons who are rather blatantly staring at them. "If I can deal with quarrelling Arls then I'm more than capable of ignoring provincial gossips," she scoffs. Her lips edge into a smirk. "Let them talk, we have nothing to be ashamed of."

When Anora catches the knight's gaze, Cauthrien knows that everything she's trying to hide is perfectly apparent in her eyes at that moment.

Cauthrien's heart squeezes as Anora's smile falters, the truth dawning on her, then something in her stare seems to soften, knowingly.

  


**

  


The silence as Anora undresses is interminable.

Cauthrien stares at a fixed point on the wall in front her until her vision blurs. When she hears the cue for her to turn around, a cleared throat, she's startled to see Anora standing nude before her, blonde hair loosened and tumbling over her shoulders.

The courtly thing to do would be to avert her gaze but the gleam of vulnerability in Anora's eyes makes it impossible to look away. It's an offering Cauthrien cannot refuse.

She remains still as Anora approaches, allowing the other woman to place a hand on her cheek. The kiss, when it comes, is light and brief but dizzying nonetheless.

Cauthrien breathes out and Anora presses their lips together again, a slightly firmer touch this time. The teasing, tentative nature of it is more than Cauthrien can take and she sits on the bed, pulling Anora onto her lap.

She takes command of the kiss, pouring every pent up feeling into it, licking into Anora's mouth and making her gasp. That sound undoes something within her, unravels the control that she's held onto so tightly these last few weeks since Loghain's death, since the battle of Denerim and Alistair's coronation. Duty be damned, she lets her hands roam down Anora's back, moving possessively over pert buttocks.

Perhaps this is the reward for her unswerving years of loyalty, she tells herself as Anora helps her unbuckle cumbersome armour, discarding it carelessly to the floor, pausing to lingeringly kiss each faded battle scar as it is revealed. Perhaps, she thinks, this was intended all along.

When there is nothing but air separating them Cauthrien puts a hand between them, palm flat, stroking a path between hip to breast. She moves her hand over a supple breast, rolling the nipple between her fingers as her tongue tangles with Anora's. Their mingled breath is soon coming in short, sharp bursts and when Cauthrien's roaming hand dips between the other woman's legs, Anora gasps and bucks her hips.

Blue eyes darkened by desire implore for greater contact so Cauthrien obliges, letting two fingers glide into slick, warm depths. The feel of Anora around her, clutching at her fingers, makes Cauthrien groan desperately. She starts a slow, steady rhythm that Anora meets, riding each thrust of Cauthrien's fingers with an answering roll of her hips.

Their mouths never cease contact, not even for the whimpers and moans that leak out between them.

When Cauthrien increases the pace, Anora matches it, panting against her lips, "Oh, dear Maker, yes!"

It's as the knight sweeps her thumb over Anora's clit, relentless swipes that have Anora grinding down with jerky movements, that Anora's back arches sharply, finally wrenching her lips away from Cauthrien's as she comes undone with a shrill gasp.

It leaves Cauthrien trembling with want, acutely aware of the ache between her own thighs and it doesn't go unnoticed by the other woman.

She pushes Cauthrien back onto the bed with one hand and slips to her knees on the floor in front of it. With a hand on each of Cauthrien's thighs, she pushes her legs apart, exposing the knight to Anora's distinctly hungry gaze.

Cauthrien lifts her head, dazedly watching as Anora leans in to touch her lips to one thigh, then the other, before pressing her mouth fully against the knight's sex.

Cauthrien gasps. "Where did you learn this?"

The rumble of laughter against her sensitive flesh makes the knight's breath catch in the back of her throat. "Orlesian maidservant," Anora responds before dragging her tongue up the length of Cauthrien's slit, rolling over and around the hard nub of flesh nestled between slick folds, causing Cautherien's hips to buck upwards, hard.

Lips and tongue seem to be everywhere at once, alternating between broad, flat licks and quickening, tight circles and soon Cauthrien is keening under this onslaught. When Anora adds two fingers, fucking her in long, deep strokes, while her mouth latches onto Cauthrien's clit, that's when she breaks spectacularly with a hoarse shout.

Before she really has time to catch her breath Anora is kissing her, the taste of herself on the blonde's lips causing a rumble of renewed need to rise up within her. She opens her mouth, accepting Anora's tongue as it sweeps inside. She lets her fingers tangle in blonde hair, one hand sliding to the nape of Anora's neck as Cauthrien tilts her head to deepen the kiss.

  


**

  


When they eventually pull away there is something unexpectedly tender in Anora's stare. The tightness that feels forever present in Cauthrien's chest seems to double in intensity.

She lifts a hand to brush a few unruly hairs out of Anora's face, the other resting on the base of her spine. A satisfied smile lingers on the blonde's kiss-swollen lips as she gazes down at Cauthrien.

"I will stay with you, in Gwaren," Cauthrien says, barely more than a whisper. "I will not leave your side."

"Why? Because you have been ordered to? To uphold some notion of honour?"

With a frown Anora moves to sit up, to put distance between them, but Cauthrien clutches the other woman's shoulder, anchoring her in place. "Because I choose to," the knight says emphatically. "Because I am yours."

Blue eyes stare at her, glassy and wide, as the implications of her words sink in. It's as near to a declaration of love as Cauthrien has ever given. She has never felt more terrified or uncertain in her life, not even facing off against a horde of darkspawn filled her with such dread.

"Anora Mac Tir, I will protect you and care for you. I will –"

Anora doesn't allow her the opportunity to finish this particular speech, instead kissing Cauthrien until she's rendered breathless.

That, she supposes, is all the answer she needs.


End file.
